FREE USE in Primitive World

In an instant, it seemed like someone had clicked the pause button.

Everyone froze, stopping whatever they were doing. The Veynar warrior holding the giant’s legs stopped moving, his muscles locking tight. The one who had just smashed the throat kept his heavy palm pressed down hard against the windpipe.

Even the dying giant beneath them stopped his desperate thrashing, though it was more likely from the severe loss of blood rather than the shock of the moment.

For a brief heartbeat, a thick, blood-stopping silence filled the cramped leather hut. Outside, the low rustle of the wind and the distant, muffled sounds of the quiet slaughter across the ridge were being broadcasted clearly through the hide flaps, making the silence inside feel even heavier.

The fourth Veynar warrior, who had been moving toward the back of the tent to search the remaining fur piles, turned around slowly. Seeing the massive giant suddenly wake up and stare right at them, he forced an awkward smile, his fingers tightening nervously around his bone-dagger.

The giant’s sleepy brain slowly came to its senses. The thick fog of sleep cleared from his mind, instantly replaced by raw, volatile confusion and rage.

He began to scramble up from his pile of mammoth pelts, his massive chest expanding as a rough, deep growl started to form in his throat.

But before he could make a loud noise, all the warriors moved at once. They didn’t hesitate for a single second. They abandoned the dying carcass on the floor and swarmed him in a desperate, silent rush.

One warrior lunged straight for his throat, driving his fingers and a short bone-needle forward to choke off the sound. Another dove low along the dirt, targeting his thick hamstrings to ruin his balance before he could plant his heavy feet on the ground.

The other two warriors threw their entire weights against his upper limbs, hacking at whatever soft tissue they could reach through his loose fiber tunic.

Even the young warrior who had been knocked into the decorative beast skulls earlier didn’t stay down; he jumped like a feral cat from the pile, his eyes wild as he launched his body through the air and plunged his long bone-knife deep into the back of the giant’s thick neck.

The poor giant couldn’t even register all the simultaneous attacks landing on his body. He didn’t have his weapon, his makeshift armor was off, and his body wasn’t ready for battle.

One moment he had been snoring loudly after a night of drinking and eating; the next, he was being torn apart in his own bed.

Multiple blades stabbed into him at once... throat, sides, spine, kidneys. He tried to roar, but only a pathetic, gurgling wheeze escaped as blood filled his lungs. His massive arms flailed weakly, smashing against the wooden supports of the hut, but it was already too late.

He died right there on his bed, collapsing backward onto the pile of furs with several Veynar warriors still latched tightly to his ten-foot frame like parasites. His throat gave one final wet gurgle before his life force was completely cut off.

But strangely, the last giant in the far corner was still sleeping like a baby.

Even through all the chaos.. the wet sounds of blades sinking into flesh, bodies thrashing violently, blood spraying across the walls, and everything cracking... this absolute unit remained curled up peacefully on his side.

He was snoring loudly with a content, dopey smile on his brutish face, one massive arm hugging a dirty bone pillow while drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. He let out a soft, happy grunt in his sleep, completely unaware of the slaughter happening just a few feet away.

One of the younger Veynar warriors... a Stalker with fresh blood on his face... actually paused for a second, staring at the giant in disbelief.

"...Is this guy serious?" he whispered.

Another warrior beside him couldn’t help but smirk darkly. "Lucky bastard. He’s about to die happier than most of us ever live."

Before the sleeping giant could finally stir from the noise, the third warrior moved silently. He stepped forward, gently placed one hand over the giant’s mouth, and drove his long bone-knife straight into the side of his thick neck with cold precision. The blade sank deep, severing everything important in one smooth motion.

The giant’s eyes fluttered open for half a second, looking confused and sleepy, as if wondering why his nice dream about smashing human skulls had suddenly turned strange. He gave one final, ridiculously peaceful sigh... almost like a content baby... before his eyes rolled back and his body went limp, still hugging his bone pillow tightly.

The young warrior who had delivered the killing blow pulled his knife free and wiped it on the giant’s fur blanket.

"Even in death he looks stupidly happy," he muttered.

The small hunting pack quickly cleaned their blades and melted back into the shadows, leaving the three dead giants cooling in their furs. The last one still wore that faint, dopey smile, as if he had passed away in the middle of a pleasant dream.

...

Outside, the small hunting parties moved like an invisible plague through the random sprawl, using the lack of clean lines to their own advantage.

The small hunting packs moved like an invisible plague through the random sprawl of the Gray Marauder camp.

Using the lack of clean lines and the chaotic layout of the tents to their advantage, the Veynar assassins slipped from shadow to shadow. If a giant in one tent stirred and reached for his weapon, the five-man pack next door would simply slice through the hide wall, slide inside like smoke, and cut his throat before he could even call out to his sleeping mates.

A low grunt here. A wet choking sound there. The soft thud of a heavy body collapsing onto furs. That was all the noise that escaped.

The entire outer ring of the Gray Marauder camp was being systematically dismantled, hut by hut, tent by tent, in an absolute, terrifying silence that the primitive world had never felt before.